Almost Here
by emerald-soco
Summary: Craig needs a new manager. Lucky for him, Paige happens to be very good at running other people's lives.
1. Attention

Hi Degrassi fandom! It's been awhile. I've had this idea in my head since writing The Long Road, because Paige and Craig struck me as more interesting than I'd originally thought. This story picks up six months after Craig left for L.A. - it assumes graduation occurred soon after and Paige went to whatever college is local. Other than that, you should be able to keep up. Enjoy!

**Attention**

_This table has taken a turn for the worst_

_Rock bottom and over the edge_

So. This was how failure felt.

Craig's temples throbbed furiously, as if trying to keep pace with the wheels of the Greyhound that was delivering him home. With each bump the bus encountered, the contents of his stomach turned and threatened to make an encore appearance. Riding public transportation while violently hungover hadn't been his most intelligent decision, but then again, he couldn't recall the last time he'd made a _good_ choice.

He hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt. He'd slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses, trying to create the big-time-star-incognito look, but he had a feeling the woman seated across from him wasn't buying it. Every time a small, pathetic groan slipped out of him, she fixed him with the most disapproving stare he'd seen since his manger (ex-manager, he reminded himself) told him that maybe he wasn't "Cut out for the business."

Craig had been in L.A. for about four months – just long enough to understand what Artie had really been saying: _Pack your bags, kid, you're finished._

Six months. He couldn't believe how little time had passed since he'd dropped out of high school, waved good-bye to everyone he'd ever known, and driven off into the sunset. He'd been promised fame and fortune, the world at his feet, and what had he gotten instead?

Rejected.

And now, not only was he not famous, but he was far from fortune. Artie, despite being perhaps the least effective manager in the history of the profession, hadn't let that stop him from taking a hefty cut of the miniscule profit Craig had made himself. Add in the money they'd shelled out for (worthless) studio time, and Craig actually _owed_ the slimy little guy another thousand dollars.

Joey had wired him the rest of his savings, and Craig had paid up, but at a high cost. With no manager, no steady gig, and no inspiration, he couldn't afford even the crappy sinkhole of an apartment he'd been renting. So he packed his bags and headed home to lick his wounds.

There _was_, however, a bright side. The only witness to his colossal failure was Joey. All of his friends were off at college by now, having the time of their lives, if the texts and e-mails they sent were any indication. Ellie was already a star reporter for the school paper, Jimmy had been asked to assist the basketball coach, even Spinner had found his niche and joined a tutoring program for inner-city kids. Craig was the only one of them whose life hadn't quite met his expectations.

"Hey, kid." The bus driver stuck a cigarette between his lips and nudged Craig's shoulder. "Kid."

"What? Oh, sorry." Shaking himself out of his stupor, Craig saw that they'd pulled into the station and that the other passengers had already exited. "Sorry. I'll just –"

He struggled to stand upright, ignoring the way the whole world tilted and swirled with the change. "Excuse me, it's just … my bag's up there."

The driver moved aside so he could unlock the overhead compartment. "Hey. Do I know you from somewhere?"

Craig paused, bag halfway slung onto his shoulder, guitar case gripped firmly in one hand. "Uh, no, I don't think so."

"Yeah, I do." The driver cocked his head to one side. "I saw you playing that guitar one night. You're coming from L.A., right? I live there. It was at, uh, Rocky's. The bar? On Sunset and Maple? Ah, you probably play so many places, you can't keep 'em straight."

Craig heard himself chuckling. "Yeah, something like that."

"You played pretty good, kid." He squinted at him again, as if to be sure that the scrawny, haggard-looking kid in front of him now was the same one who'd power-chorded his way through a set at his favorite bar. "Yep. Pretty good."

Craig glanced down at his shoes, imagining how it would feel is this guy's opinion actually mattered; what life would be like if there was a crowd of screaming fans waiting for him to step off a tour bus. But he knew the only face he'd recognize at the station would be Joey's, kind and just a little pitying. "Well. Thanks, man. That means a lot."

He was lying, of course. But it was good to know that, somewhere out there, someone had heard him and liked what they were listening to.

XXX

"Craig Manning."

The voice was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Craig turned, his camera still held at eye level, and suddenly found his lens filled with a blast from the past.

"Paige?" Her blonde hair was longer, straighter; her face free if the glittery makeup she'd always worn, but there was no mistaking the girl who had ruled Degrassi with an ice-cold attitude and infamous impatience. "Paige Michelchuk. How are you?"

"I'd be better if you'd put that thing down," she said, gesturing to his camera. Surprised it was still in his hands, Craig obliged. "Thanks. I'm not exactly dressed for a photo op."

Involuntarily, his eyes traveled down her body. She wore fitted jeans with a frayed hole in one knee and a university sweatshirt. It wasn't exactly a fashion statement, but it was an approachable look she hadn't possessed in high school.

"So." Paige said, when a minute had ticked by without him saying anything. "What are you doing hanging around here? I thought you were off to Hollywood to become the next big thing."

"Yeah, I tried L.A. for awhile," he answered, feigning nonchalance. "It wasn't really my scene."

"Translation: they didn't like you very much," Paige guessed.

He guffawed. "Still brutally honest, I see."

"Someone has to be." She smiled, taking most of the sting out of her words. "So what's the E! True Hollywood version?"

"Truthfully?" Craig drew in a deep breath. "I crashed and burned. Couldn't play anywhere but seedy bars, and even then, we practically had to pay _them_ money. So here I am. I thought maybe if I came back to my roots, I'd … I don't know, get inspired."

Paige nodded, taking a step closer. "And how's that working out for you?"

"So far, not very good," he said honestly, and they both laughed. "I don't even know what I'm looking for. And even if I do find it and manage to make it into a song, I'll still have to start from scratch as far as L.A. goes. My manager – well, he's not exactly my manager anymore. AndI have no idea how to get my foot in the door."

"Sounds like you need a new manager," she suggested.

Craig aimed his viewfinder at Degrassi's front steps; the pillar they'd all had to climb. "That'd be a good start," he agreed, and snapped the photo.

Over the mechanical whirring as his film reset, he heard Paige say, "I'll do it."

"Do what?" he asked absently.

"Be your manager."

Craig coughed. "Are you serious?"

She gave him a hard look. "Why not?"

"Well – because –" He couldn't think of a reason why not. He couldn't think, period. "Well, don't you have school?"

"I can do both." She shrugged. "It's not what I thought it'd be, anyway. I want something else. I want to do this."

"Paige, I don't know." He laughed nervously. "I mean, it's a pretty tough town – trust me, I speak from experience."

"You speak," she cut in, "Like you don't know I'm the biggest bitch in the western hemisphere."

That, he couldn't really deny. "Well. I just mean, are you sure? It'd be a lot of work – getting me gigs and scheduling interviews and photo shoots and God knows what else it takes to score a recording deal."

"Well, I won't have to do any of that until you write something worth listening to," Paige pointed out. "So why don't you worry about that and leave the rest to me?"

Craig hesitated. "I just don't think you know what you're signing on for. You'll be responsible for basically running my life."

"Works for me." The smile she gave him this time was dazzling in its brightness. "I happen to be very good at running other people's lives."

He still wasn't convinced. Paige sighed. "Look, if you really have that little faith in me, we'll consider it a probationary period, okay? If you're not a household name by the end of the year, we'll go our separate ways. No hard feelings.'

"You drive a hard bargain, Michelchuk," Craig declared. He thought for another minute, then shrugged. At this point, what did he really have to lose? "You know what? Deal."

Her entire face lit up. "Seriously."

"Well, we have to shake on it," he laughed, holding out his hand.

They shook.

--------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Don't forget to let me know what you think!


	2. Season

**Season**

_Show me something we haven't heard yet_

_I'm not convinced and your heartless songs won't stick_

Craig was blocked.

He hadn't had an original thought in the past two weeks. Every time he picked up a pen, his mind went absolutely, scarily blank. There were no insightful lyrics, no melodic guitar chords, nothing. When his cell phone rang, shattering the peaceful atmosphere he'd been trying to create, he snapped it open and barked, "What?"

"Hello to you, too." He recognized Paige's voice almost immediately, as she'd been checking in almost daily since agreeing to help. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. This cold is still kicking my ass and I stubbed my toe this morning, but other than that, life's peachy."

Despite his frustration, he felt his lips curving upward. "Sorry. Hi, Paige. How are you?"

"I'm fabulous," she proclaimed. "How's the top-charter coming?"

"Actually, it's ... non-existent," he admitted. "I'm stuck."

"_Still_?"

He had to chuckle. Paige had to be the only girl he'd ever met who made a complete lack of tact seem charming. "Yes, still. It's not exactly a piece of cake, taking some indescribable feeling and, you know, describing it."

"Now, see, that right there, that's deep," Paige dead-panned. "I just refuse to believe that you can't come up with any more lyrical genius. There has to be more where that came from."

"Shut up," he instructed, refusing to laugh for fear it would encourage her. "You know, I don't remember you being this much of a smartass in high school."

"That's because you were too wrapped up in your own little Craig-dramas to notice."

"Ouch." He wasn't all that offended – it was, to a certain extent, true. He'd spent his years at Degrassi juggling girlfriends; trying to live up to the angst-ridden persona he'd created for himself. He hadn't had the time to get to know anyone who wasn't playing a pivotal role in his personal life.

"Which leads me to the reason for my call," Paige continued. "I think you're having such a hard time coming up with new material because you're still too wrapped up in yourself."

_That_, he could be offended by. "Uh, thanks for the analysis, Michelchuk, but I'm not sure you know me well enough to make that –"

"Oh, Lord." She cut him off, and he didn't even have time to be exasperated by her rudeness because she just kept talking. "No offense, Craig, but let's face it. You've been trying to write a song for the past two weeks and you've got _nothing_. Nada. Why? Because you've been locked up in your room the whole time, thinking about your life instead of _living_ it. Same old emo Craig. You need a new experience."

"I can't exactly write a song while I'm out there skydiving," he pointed out, a little tersely. Who was she to tell him his tried and true methods wouldn't work? What did she know about song-writing?

"You can't write one about the two television channels in your basement, either," she countered firmly. Her tone brooked no room for argument. "At least, not one anyone wants to hear."

He considered. He _had_ fallen into a bit of a slump, he supposed. He'd come back from L.A. intending to pack everything he'd learned from his trip into one big hit, but the wounds were still too fresh to pick at. His diet consisted mainly of dry cereal now, his only company the voiceless newscasters on the muted TV. His room was in such disarray that even he was disgusted by the amount of dirty laundry and half-eaten food that had accumulated.

"You might have a small point," he admitted grudgingly. "Just a small one."

Paige laughed, the sound filtering through the phone line like pieces of sparkling glass. "I'm picking you up in half an hour and we're going to hit the town," she told him. "Be ready."

XXX

"_This _is your idea of really living life?"

"_This _is your target audience, my dear boy," Paige retorted. They were at a dorm party filled with co-eds and kegs; a scene she knew he'd missed out on when he chose L.A. over college. "If you want to give them something they want to hear, you have to get to know them first."

"No way," he refused.

Paige gave him an arch look. Then, without fuss, she hopped onto a nearby chair, clapped her hands and shouted, "Can I have everyone's attention?" He wasn't nearly as surprised as he should've been when it worked and the entire room turned towards her. "This is Craig Manning. He's new to this whole "having fun" thing. So I want you all to be nice and show him a good time, okay?"

Her introduction was met with whoops and catcalls. Craig's face burned as she hopped off the chair, landing lightly beside him again, and she only laughed when he glowered, "I'm going to kill you."

"You're going to _thank_ me," she corrected, pushing him towards a pretty brunette with a Rolling Stones t-shirt and one of the funnels in hand. "Go on, Manning, live a little!"

XXX

Four hours later, the party had broken up and Craig and Paige were meandering across the quiet campus. "That was great," Craig declared, enjoying the buzz he'd built up and the feel of Paige's shoulder bumping up against his. "I don't know why you'd want to work all those hours helping me out when you could just be doing that."

"Because if I did _that_ all the time, I'd be an alcoholic," she laughed. "And how did Kelly work out for you? I thought you guys might have similar taste in music."

"She was cool," was his non-committal response.

Paige wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Feeling inspired yet?"

"It's gonna take more than one cute girl to inspire me, Michelchuk. I needed two in high school, remember?" He ducked away from the half-hearted punch she aimed at his shoulder. "Just kidding. But seriously, Paige, why are you so unhappy with school?"

"I'm not _unhappy_," she denied, slowing her pace as she mulled over her words. "I told you before, I just want to do more. Come on, you know what that's like. I mean, why do you want to be a star so badly?"

Craig sighed and stopped, settling down on the low stone wall they'd been walking along. "It's not that I want to be a star, I just ... want to know I can do it. My mom was always so sure I was going to be somebody and I feel like I kind of owe it to her. And to myself, you know? To see if she was right."

Paige touched his shoulder. "I'm really sorry about your mom, Craig. She sounds great."

"She was." He swallowed, hard, then shook his head. "Okay. Enough. Let's talk about ... something happy. Something to laugh about."

She bit her lip, then shot him a grin. "Like your face when I offered to be your manager? Shocked and disbelieving?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "You were never exactly known in school for your willingness to help others."

Paige shoved him gently. "That just means you didn't know me well enough."

He caught her hand to keep his balance. "I'm glad I'm getting to know you now," he said quietly.

She knew he was going to kiss her. She'd known all night, since he'd caught her eye across the crowded room and grinned like there was no one standing between them. Still, the abstract knowing didn't make her any more prepared for the sensation of his lips finally meeting hers.

"You're pretty good at this," she murmured, as he maneuvered them both so that he was laying on top of her, his weight braced on his elbows. She could _feel_ the way his lips curved into a smile.

"Well, you know, practice makes perfect," he boasted jokingly.

She swatted at him lightly. "You're such a man-whore."

"Well." He made a show of glancing pointedly at the spot where her shirt met her jeans, where his fingers rested under the fabric on her warm skin. "That seems to be working out in your favor."

Paige laughed and moved suddenly, throwing him off balance enough to roll off the wall and land on the ground with a soft thump. "Oops," she giggled, leaning over to peer at him with widened eyes. The tips of her hair tickled his cheeks. "My bad."

He stared up at her, a dazed smile on his face, and then he sprang to his feet. "Come on," he urged, holding out a hand for her to grab.

She eyed him warily, unsure of what the sudden burst of energy was all about. "Where?"

"Back to my place," he explained, tugging her onto her feet.

One eyebrow arched. "That's a little overconfident, don't you think?"

Craig scoffed. "Not for _that_, gutterbrain. I've got an idea for a song."

"Well, _finally,_" Paige huffed. "It's about damn time."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: Hey all, just FYI, I don't plan on continuing this story if it doesn't receive any reviews. I generally like to work on stories people are interested in, so if I don't receive feedback, I'll take the hint and move on to a different project. Thanks to those of you who have reviewed, it always helps!


	3. Slow Down

-1**The Phrase That Pays**

_Hollywood hills and suburban thrills_

_Hey, you, who are you kidding?_

Paige barged into his room without bothering to knock, giving Craig a minor heart attack.

"Jesus Christ," he complained, rubbing at his chest as if to soothe the startled organ. . "Take ten years off my life, why don't you? Who let you in?"

"Angie," she said, and he could hear the underlying _Duh_ in the sentence.

He waited, but she didn't continue. "And was there a reason for this unexpected visit?" he prompted, then flashed a grin. "Or could you just not stand to keep your distance any longer?"

"I may have some news you'd be interested in." She began to stroll the parameter of his room, examining the posters and photos he'd tacked up. "But I don't know. You haven't returned my calls in three days, so far all I know, you're not even interested in being famous anymore."

"Aw, Paige." Pushing off the wall, he rolled his chair across the floor, stopping neatly in front of her. "Give me a break, I've been writing like crazy."

"Yeah?" She looked skeptical. "Anything good?"

Craig glanced at the notebook he'd left open on his desk. "Could be."

"Well, good. 'Cause you're gonna need it to impress the talent agents at -" Here, she paused dramatically. "Touchtone's Annual Artists On the Verge party this Saturday!"

"Are you serious?" He could hardly believe his ears. "Paige - how did you - how the -"

"They're renting out one of my dad's hotels, so it was pretty easy to contact the guy in charge," Paige shrugged. "It was a _little_ harder to convince him that I happen to be the manager of a singer who's going to put Justin Timberlake to shame, but what can I say, I'm charming."

"Oh, my God." He didn't even think he was breathing. "Paige, I can't even - I can't believe you did this. I owe you my life, my firstborn - hell, I'll throw in my second-born, too."

"I'll settle for fifteen percent of the profits," she assured him, and she was still laughing when he yanked her down into his lap and pressed his lips to hers.

"Okay," Paige breathed, pulling away so that her brow rested against his. "What are we doing here?"

He pretended to consider. "The same thing we did the other night?"

"Yeah, but that was a drunken hookup. It's practically required of two members of the opposite sex who attend a party together." Paige shifted slightly, obviously uncomfortable. His hand still rested on the small of her back, holding her in place when she would've jumped to her feet and started to pace. "This is ... different. This could be construed as ... something."

"Something like dating?" Craig suggested. When she didn't respond, he was quick to backtrack. "I mean, not that we're ... we're dating, just that, you know ... I'm not entirely opposed to kissing you."

That broke the tension. "Well, unfortunately, I _am_ opposed to kissing you," Paige shot back cheekily. "In fact, I have a strict policy against it. I'm a firm believer of a separation between business and pleasure."

"I'd believe it if you weren't currently straddling me," he said dryly and waited for her fit of giggles to pass before continuing. "So I guess that means you wouldn't be interested in being my date to this event?"

"Well, I didn't say _that_," she drawled slowly. "After all, I did score two invites. No use letting one go to waste. Although ..."

"Although what?"

"Although it _will_ be a waste if you don't get a demo recorded before this weekend." Pressing one last kiss to his cheek, she slid off his lap, smoothing the wrinkles out of her clothes. "So, come on, bigshot. Let's get to work."

XXX

"I can't believe we're actually here."

"I can't believe how good you look," Craig replied, his eyes sweeping over her body yet again. In a sleek black dress and strappy high heels to match, her hair cascading down her back in loose waves, she looked every inch the starlet arriving at a red carpet event. "It's like you were born for this."

"Well." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, trying not to let on how pleased she was with his compliment. "Maybe I was."

He laughed and moved in to kiss her cheek and, somewhere, a camera flashed, capturing the moment. "Excuse me," the photographer called out, jogging over to them, "Can I get your names?"

Craig was too taken aback to speak. Luckily, Paige was prepared. "I'm Paige Michelchuk," she said smoothly, holding out her hand to shake. "My father owns this hotel. And this is Craig Manning. That's two 'n's in the last name. You'll want to write it down, he's going to be all over the news pretty soon."

Scribbling, the photographer grinned. "Oh, yeah? For what?"

Paige's hand smoothed down the front of Craig's suit. "He's a musician. Up and coming, of course."

"What makes you think he'll make it?" the photographer challenged.

"Are you kidding?" Paige gave him her signature _Oh, please_ look. "Listen, just write it down and put that photo in your magazine. I'll do you a favor and even book you an interview as soon as he signs a contract."

"You know what, kid? You've got spunk." Cracking his gum, the photographer shifted his equipment to one hand and held out the other one. "You've got yourself a deal."

Triumphant, Paige shook his hand, then waited until he'd moved out of earshot to let out an excited squeal. "Oh, my God, Craig, did you _hear_ that? I just made my first deal! I'm a _manager_!"

"And I'm an up and coming musician," he declared, grinning. "Let's get inside, so we can toast ourselves."

They made their entrance amidst even more flashbulbs and were greeted by the party coordinator; an overenthusiastic, underweight redhead named Mercedes who urged them to "See and be seen! That's what tonight's all about!"

Twenty minutes later, Paige dragged Craig out of the corner he was hiding in with a stern look and the reminder, "Mercedes wants us to mingle, rock star. Get ready to pour on the charm."

It turned out that was more Paige's area of expertise. The night passed, for Craig, in a blur of hand-shaking and head-nodding, as she worked the room methodically. He didn't mind - he had never been much of a people person and she was in her element, sparkling as much as the champagne they were sipping. He couldn't help but notice everyone _else_ noticing, too - the lingering stares of the music executives, the slight head nods in her general direction as they conversed amongst themselves.

"_You_, my dear, were a hit tonight," he told her as they pulled away from the hotel. It was after three a.m. and he was exhausted, but the party in the rearview mirror was still going full-swing.

"It was really _fun_," she said, leaning her head against the window. "God, don't you wish real life could be like that?"

"Overly important people in expensive suits trying to impress each other with how much money they have?" Craig asked sardonically. "No, not really."

"No, not _them_. _Us._ Well, me, at least." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shrug. "I wish I could always feel like I do now."

"And how's that?"

"Like ... like I matter. Like I'm doing something I'm actually good at."

Wordlessly, he reached over and took her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. "That _was _real life, Paige. You were really doing that. And you were damn good at it."

"I thought so, too." It would have been conceited, if not for the wistful sigh that followed. "I just wish I could always be doing something so ... exciting."

"Well, how about I make you a deal," he proposed, letting their joined fingers fall to rest on the gearshift. "Once you've made me filthy rich and disgustingly famous, I'll pass out your business card to all my hotshot celebrity friends. That'll keep you busy for awhile."

"Thank you," she said.

"Well, I promised myself I wouldn't forget the little people," he boasted playfully.

"No, really, Craig ... thank you." She had turned away from the window now, regarding him with serious eyes. "For giving me the chance to do this. You know, for believing I could."

"Hey." He smiled at her, squeezing her palm gently. "You believed in me first."


	4. The Phrase That Pays

Hey guys, thanks for the reviews so far! I've had the first half of this story written for over a year, so I'm glad people are still interested in the characters/situations. Keep the feedback coming!

**The Phrase That Pays**

_So take a chance and make it big _

_'Cause it's the last you'll ever get._

"Turn on your radio."

Craig rolled over in his bed, switching his cell phone from one ear to the other. "What _time_ is it?" he croaked out, prying his eyes open to try and read his digital clock.

"Seven fifteen," Paige replied, her impatience translating over the phone line loud and clear. "Is your radio on yet?"

"There's a seven fifteen _in the morning_?" His dismay was only half a joke. Between the party, the champagne buzz, and Paige, he hadn't crawled into bed until sunrise - which apparently had been a mere two hours ago. "What's so important that you're calling so early? Is someone dead?"

"Would you stop asking questions and just turn. Your radio. On," Paige suggested through gritted teeth.

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, batting at the clock until he found the right button. The radio blared to life, a crashing symphony of drums and bass and a piano melody in the background, and Craig winced. "Jesus ..." He trailed off, recognizing the voice that was crooning over the instruments, registering the words.

_"If we don't take it, when will we make it? I make plans to break plans and I've been planning something big, planning something big, planning ..."_

"Oh, my God." The song faded away, switched to the newest track from some boy-band member's first solo endeavor. "That was me."

"Was it?" Paige sounded vaguely amused. "I didn't notice."

"Oh, my _God_," he repeated. He was sitting up in bed now, fully awake. "Paige. I was just on the radio. The _real_ radio. People heard that."

"Yeah, well, hopefully they liked it," she replied dryly. "Otherwise, I've been seriously wasting my time."

"What did you _do_?" He marveled, not understanding when she'd had the time to arrange such a thing. It had only been a few hours since the party. "Who did you call?"

"Call?" Paige laughed out loud at that. "I've been stalking the local DJ for the past two weeks. When you dropped me off this morning, I was so awake I figured I might as well just stop by in person. I finally got through to him - it was either play the damn song or spend all afternoon at the police station filling out a restraining order against me."

His mind flipped rapidly through the past two weeks, trying to recall whether she'd seemed distracted during any of their time together. "But ... but you never said anything."

"Well, of course not." Her exasperation was tinged with affection. "That would kind of ruin the surprise, don't you think?"

"Paige." He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that this was Paige Michelchuk he was talking to; the self-absorbed ice queen of Degrassi High. "Thank you. This means ... so much to me. Really."

"You can repay me," she replied airily. "I'm thinking thirty percent of all your profit, plus travel expenses. How's that sound?"

"Like you're a real Hollywood agent," he laughed. "Got any more magic up your sleeve, Michelchuk?"

"Funny you should ask. What're you doing next Saturday night?"

"Don't know." He grinned at the phone like an idiot. "You asking me on a date?"

"Yeah, a date," she repeated. "Just you, me, a stage, and a hundred pairs of ears. You interested?"

His jaw dropped. "What are you ... what are you talking about, Paige?"

"I booked you a show!" Her squeal nearly broke his eardrum as she dropped the cool act and began to gush. "I can't even believe it, Craig, I was talking to this DJ, going on and on about how great you are, and he mentioned this Battle of the Bands type thing happening next week at the Herald and then he said he liked your sound and the judges might, too, so I signed you up!"

She was talking a mile a minute, but he was able to understand the gist of it. "I'm going to be in a show? With an audience? And - and a band?"

"The works!" she confirmed gleefully. "How much do you love me right now?"

"I'm going to be in a show," he repeated. "Paige, are you telling me that in one hour, you managed to get me radio play _and _a show when Artie couldn't do that in six months?"

"Well, let's give Artie some credit, the L.A. music scene is a bit more competitive," Paige rationalized. "But, yes. That's basically what I'm saying."

"Amazing," he marveled. "I should've hired you right out of high school."

"Doesn't matter," she brushed off. "What's important is you're going to be a famous rock star and I'm going to be a successful businesswoman. Do you realize what this means?"

"There's no chance that our relationship will last?" he guessed.

Next to his own voice on the radio, her laughter was the best sound he'd heard in a long time.

XXX

"So. Anything you want to tell me?"

Craig was still too dazed from his phone conversation with Paige to think properly. "Uh, I don't think so," he replied, pouring an unhealthy amount of Fruit Loops into a bowl. "Why, what's up?"

Joey tossed his newest issue of _Rolling Stone_ onto the table, neatly folded to expose his own image laughing into Paige's ear. "Oh, same old, same old."

"I'm in the paper?" A mouthful of the brightly colored cereal dropped out of his mouth and back into the milk. "I'm in the paper! With a caption! Joey, did you read this? 'Craig Manning, an up and coming musician, and date Paige Michelchuk arrived at Touchtone's Artists On the Verge Party looking like stars already.' Oh, my God, this is _incredible_."

"Unbelievable, actually, was the word I was looking for." Joey pulled out a chair, settled himself down across from Craig. "I didn't even know you were going to this thing. For that matter, I have no idea how you got in. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wasn't thinking, I was just so psyched," he answered honestly. "Paige's dad owns the hotel the party was at, so she got us tickets. And this picture, she had some guy promise to put it in whatever he worked for. We had no idea it was _Rolling Stone._"

"Wow." Joey looked as impressed as Craig had been when he watched Paige work her magic. "So, this thing with Paige, is it a business thing?"

"It's ... business-y," Craig evaded. "She's helping me out."

"Cause you guys look pretty, I don't know, intimate," Joey pointed out, jabbing at the picture again with his forkful of scrambled eggs. "I mean, a person looking at this might think you were more than just friends."

"Well, maybe we are." He shrugged, folded his arms across his chest. "Or will be. I don't know. Why? Is there a problem with that?"

Joey hesitated. "I'm just not sure how wise it is to get involved with the girl who's in charge of this new career of yours."

Craig bristled. "I'm not the same dumb kid I was in high school, Joey. I learned from everything that happened with Ash and Manny. I'm not going to mess up like that again."

"I'm not saying you would! I'm just looking out for you. If, for any reason, things didn't work out between you and Paige, what would happen to you? She wouldn't still be singing your praises to talent agents."

"Yeah, but she wouldn't be trash-talking me to tabloids, either," Craig argued. Setting his cereal bowl aside - he'd lost his appetite - he clasped his hands and rested them on the tabletop. "Look. I know I've made some mistakes in the past. I know Paige and I ... it's out of nowhere, and it's new, and it's all kinds of weird. But I _like_ her. I really do. And I don't want to pass that up just because it might jeopardize a future I have no guarantee on anyway."

"Okay." He still seemed a little unconvinced, but Joey let the matter drop. "I trust your judgment. So when do I get to hear a live performance from this up-and-coming musician?"

"Funny you should ask." Craig grinned proudly. "Paige just called to say she booked me in some kind of talent show at the Herald next Saturday night. She said she even got some reps to come from a few different labels. I think I know a guy who can get you tickets."

"That sounds promising." Standing, Joey clapped him on the back. "See, Craig, who cares about what happened in L.A? You're still going places."


	5. Black Mamba

-1**Black Mamba**

_We're living while we're singing_

_And that's a step in the right direction_

"I'm going to throw up."

"That's disgusting," Paige replied, remarkably calm considering it would be her brand new - and quite expensive - dress that would most likely be ruined. "And, no, you're not."

"I really am," Craig insisted, rubbing his stomach anxiously. "Where's the bathroom in this place? I'm going to throw up, and then I'm going to run away and hide and eventually die of shame."

"Craig." She took him by the shoulders, her expression stern. "Are you seriously freaking out right now? Because I busted my ass to put this whole thing together - hello, there are people out there who flew in from _New York_ to hear you sing! And if you're gonna cop out on me now, I might actually have to kick your ass."

A minute ticked by before he let out a nervous laugh. "God, you're tough. Okay. I'm fine. Just - is there water around here? Or maybe Saltines?"

"Oh, my God, you're like a pregnant lady," she bemoaned, burying her face in her hands. "Yes, here, have some water. Now, focus. The guitar is tuned. The sound check was great. The song is _amazing_. This is practically in the bag. All you have to do is go out there and sell it."

"Wait." He shot out a hand to grab her by the wrist. "Paige. I don't think I can do this. I mean, this isn't me. I write songs in a messy room and play them in dive bars. I'm not ... I'm not glamorous, I'm not Hollywood. I'm just a guy with a guitar. I'm not a professional."

"Well, duh." Gently, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "That's what I'm here for. To make you one."

"You can't magically cure stage fright, though," he argued. "You can't make me _not_ forget the lyrics as soon as the spotlight hits me."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Did we or did we not make a deal? I get you an audience, you play them a song. I swear to God, Craig, you'd better hold up your end of the bargain or -"

"Please." He held his hands up to ward off her words. "No more threats."

She broke off with a sigh. "Okay. Craig. Listen to me. I know you can do this. You have been working towards this moment for as long as I've known you. High school, L.A., all of it - it was just practice, okay? _This_ is the real deal. And you are going to walk out on that stage like you own the whole damn place, and you're going to sing like you're already famous, and - most importantly - You. Will. Not. Throw. Up."

At last, a small smile worked its way across his lips. "You're really something, you know that?"

"So I've been told," she smiled back.

Craig blew out a long breath, thinking back on his conversation with Joey and everything Paige had just said. "Okay. So before I go out there and change my life for better or worse -"

"For better," Paige interrupted.

"Or worse," he repeated, but his smile was bigger now. "I just want to know one thing."

"Yes, your ass looks great in those jeans," she deadpanned.

Craig chuckled, hefting himself up to sit on the counter. "Not that, but thanks. This thing, between us - it's not just about the music, right? It's not just the typical manager/musician relationship, right?"

"If you had this kind of relationship with Artie ..." Paige trailed off, screwing up her nose in distaste. "No. It's not. I can honestly say I'm not next to you right now, risking being the target of your upcoming lunch, because I'm so invested in your career."

"No?" He took both her hands, drawing her closer so that she was sandwiched between his dangling legs. "So why are you here, then?"

"Because ..." She sighed, and grazed one finger across his brow, smoothing out the worry lines. "Because I know that, no matter how nervous you are, you're going to go out there and blow this crowd away and the smile on your face is going to be so absolutely contagious that I'm going to smile, too. Because when you're happy, I'm happy. You satisfied?"

Craig leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers. "You mean it? The part about making you happy, not the other stuff."

"I mean all of it." Her lips met his slowly but certainly, tasting of vanilla and promises. "I'm with you either way. Rich and famous or poor and living in a box. But, as your manager, I can pretty much guarantee that it'll be the former. You're going to go out there and be great. Everyone is going to love it."

"Famous last words," he told her ruefully, and grabbed his guitar.

XXX

Craig stepped onto the stage and nearly winced at the spotlight's glare. It had been months since he'd performed in front of any kind of audience and the dive bars in L.A. hadn't exactly been professionally lit. This place, the Herald, was a legitimate performance space and now that he was on it, he was even more aware of what a huge deal this was.

It wasn't a particularly big crowd. Paige was efficient, but she wasn't a miracle worker. He recognized a few faces of kids he'd graduated with, a few more he'd seen at Paige's dorm. Joey was there somewhere, he knew. But the most important people were those adults in suits, jabbering away on Bluetooths. Craig could recognize an agent from a mile away and by his count, there were five guests throughout the room that he needed desperately to impress.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the club's owner intoned, "Next up on our roster is a little local flavor, the talented singer/songwriter Craig Manning!"

Applause. The kind of scattered, polite applause that Craig knew shouldn't mean anything, but it had him sweating just the same. The owner relinquished the microphone to him with a little flourish and he gripped it with clammy palms.

"Hey, guys, thanks for coming out tonight," he said, through a jaw that felt like it had been wired shut. "I, uh ... I'm going to play you a few songs and, uh -"

"We know!" someone called out, and the crowd snickered.

Craig shot a panicked look offstage. Safely out of sight, Paige glared at him, then whirled around and grabbed one of the stagehand's walkie-talkies. Her voice suddenly filled his headset.

"I swear to God, Manning, I am all out of inspirational speeches," she threatened. "You already did the nerves thing backstage, so if you don't start singing something - and I don't care if it's The Star Spangled Banner - I am going to personally rip your vocal cords out so that you can never waste my time again."

Despite himself, his spine straightened and he cleared his throat. "Okay, so this first song is pretty new, but it's one of my favorites. And I'd like to dedicate it to the girl who made it possible for me to be here tonight, Paige Michelchuk. She's one hell of a manager." Somebody whooped, which gave Craig an idea. "In fact, we should probably bring her out here and give her a round of applause."

Offstage, he could see Paige frantically gesturing _No!_ at him, but the crowd was coming alive, clapping and catcalling for her. "Come on, Paige, don't be shy," he urged into the microphone. "The people want to see you."

"It's not _me _we're trying to sell," she muttered into his headset, but she was already striding across the stage, waving like Miss America to the people now chanting her name.

"Hi, everybody, I'm Paige." She had to lean close to him to reach the mic, not that he minded. "As Craig's manager, I'd love to hear anyone's feedback after the show. If you like what you hear, let me know. And if you don't ..." She flashed a smile that put the spotlight to shame. "I don't care, I'll still try to sell you his demo."

As the audience laughed and applauded, Paige gave him a pointed look as if to say, _See? That's how you do it _before turning back to them."So, ladies and gents," she announced, "Once again, I give you ... Craig Manning!"

"Thanks, Paige." He scanned the crowd again and grinned, his nerves long forgotten. "Now that you've met her, I think you'll appreciate this song even more. Let's get to it."

He began to strum, and just vaguely over his own music heard Paige again. "They love you already," she murmured and then, typically, added, "I told you so."

The rest of the audience couldn't hear it, but to Craig, her voice in his ear made this song the best he'd ever sung.


End file.
